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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493863">Through the Window</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonheart2012/pseuds/leonheart2012'>leonheart2012</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Aged-Up Characters, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Developing Relationship, Disabled Yamaguchi, I'm sorry Yamaguchi, I'm sorry in general, M/M, Prostitute Tsukishima, Severe Bullying, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, There's also a scene that kinda mght be considered torture? Maybe?, This is not nice to Yamaguchi, Tsukishima is a kind soul and I love him, i guess?, very sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:08:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonheart2012/pseuds/leonheart2012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For a long time, I've been staring out the window, but it's time to change that. I have to find my older brother; he'll take care of me, but I need help getting there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Going Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“He’ll never be able to walk the same again.” The words destroyed my life, the second he said them. Of course, one might argue that that process started the second I was forced down the stairs – an incident I claimed was an accident, and still do. My parents will probably claim that I had destroyed theirs from the second I was born, and that my own was so screwed up was my comeuppance.</p>
<p>I can remember no time when they cradled me to their chests as they did my younger sister. My older brother recalls that they turned away from the sight of me as they brought me back from the hospital, leaving me in the crib. If it weren’t for him, I would have been without love entirely. As I gaze out the window of my apartment, shut away from the world with no way to reach it, I think of him.</p>
<p>For the first few days, I cried non-stop. Even when mum hit me, I could not stop the tears. Dad told her to leave it, then shot a disgusted look my way, washing her hands with his in the kitchen sink of the apartment, pouring sanitiser over them, making sure I saw it, sending the clear message that he’d told her to stop for her own sake, lest she caught the disease I had. Not that I had one; other than my hip, I was in perfect health. A boy of just fifteen years old, and I was essentially dead to the world. Maybe he was right to shiel her from me; it sure seemed like I was cursed.</p>
<p>After those first few days, the pain turned to anger. Too late, as they had left me for good at that point. They had begrudgingly set up a delivery of food to be dropped off at the beginning of the week, the bare necessities of living. I had no internet, so I couldn’t order anything for myself, and my phone had long since run out of credit. I could phone the police if I needed to, but that was the extent of my contact.</p>
<p>None of my previous friends knew where I was – or they wouldn’t know, if I’d had any. So, in my solitude, my feelings all turned to anger. But in the end, as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks melted into months, even that fizzled out. I just sat empty, gazing out the window that looked out over the city. It wasn’t a pretty view, and it was often overshadowed by smog, but it was my only view into the outside world. Finally, after what must have been at least six months, but not more than ten, I tried to kill myself.</p>
<p>Getting the knife was a blur. I had it pressed into my skin so hard a white line was underneath it, slowly turning red, before I realised what I was doing. My consciousness snapped back in sharp focus, and I dropped the knife with a gasp. It clattered to the floor and, as if to mock me, only a single drop of blood fell with it. Instead of a torrent, a pitiful splatter. I wasn’t able to clean it up, so it’s still there when I go into the bathroom. I’ve never tried again since.</p>
<p>But today is going to be different from all that. Last night, I went down – painfully, so painfully – to an internet cafe and gave over the last of my savings to book a free ‘consultation’ with a prostitute, and then went about searching for my brother. Unfortunately, I had no luck on the brother front, but the prostitute should be here any second-</p>
<p>The knock at the door comes just as the clock on my phone ticks over to ten thirty. “Coming!” I say, my voice hoarse from disuse. I open the door and standing there is a young man of about twenty years of age, his blonde hair half-smoothed back as if in an attempt to be socially acceptable, but sort of failing, his brown eyes looking down at me with contempt. It feels familiar, familial, and something strikes against my heart. I move out of the way for him.</p>
<p>He enters my apartment, looks around, scoffs, then places his shoulder bag on the floor, leaning against the wall rather than risk the flimsy chair that looks like it’s been here since the day this building was built. I silently support his decision; even if I could walk, I would avoid the chair myself. He folds his arms across his chest. “You’re not legal.” He states, quite correctly.</p>
<p>“No, but don’t leave, please. I don’t want anything sexual from you. Your consultation service was just the only thing I could find for free. I just need your help, just for today.”</p>
<p>He’s silent for a few minutes, and I sit in tense silence. <em>Please let him say yes,</em> I beg of any deity I can think of. If he leaves, so too does any chance of me getting out. I’ll die alone here, and probably in the months rather than years time frame.</p>
<p>“With what?” He says finally, still curled against the wall like a particularly handsome ornament.</p>
<p>I breathe out a sigh. At least it’s not an outright no. “I need to find my brother. I’m not exactly sure where to start, but-”</p>
<p>“How much time do you think I have?” He snaps. “I’m not a detective.” He huffs and starts to leave, and I panic.</p>
<p>“No, please, I...I know where we might start. My parents’ house. He’s probably moved out by now, but...but we might be able to find out where he’s gone from there.”</p>
<p>He purses his lips, and he looks me over. “You’re thin.” He says.</p>
<p>“I...I don’t eat much.”</p>
<p>His eyes scour me, ripping away my skin. I feel like he’s flayed me alive. His bag drops to the floor again. “How old are you?” He asks as he starts to approach. My heart leaps in fear, like a field rabbit in the farmer's torch beam, but there’s nowhere for me to hide as he towers over me.</p>
<p>“S-sixteen.” I squeak. As the word passes my lips, I wonder just when my birthday was. Was it yesterday? Three days ago? Months?</p>
<p>When he finally comes to be right next to my chair, all he does is bend down and feel around my legs. As his fingers brush against my left hip, I yelp, unused to it being treated so roughly. He pulls back and looks into my eyes. “How long ago did it happen?”</p>
<p>I blink. I have no idea. How long have I been here? What’s the date today? I turn my phone over, and it tells me that it’s the seventeenth of May, a year after the incident. My mouth goes dry. How did I time it so perfectly? “Yesterday.”</p>
<p>“Yest-”</p>
<p>“A year ago, yesterday.”</p>
<p>He seems to relax after the clarification. There’s an anger in his movements as he stands and gathers his bag again, but instead of slinging it over his shoulder, he gives it to me. “Hold this.”</p>
<p>I blink in surprise, but do as he says, clutching it like it’s a living person. He bends down again, and fiddles with my chair, getting the straps loosened, and I realise too late what he’s going to do. He lifts me out of the chair bridal style. I gasp and cling to his neck with my left arm, my right still gripping his bag. He chuckles. “I’m not going to drop you. There aren’t any lifts down to the bottom floor, so I’ll have to carry you down, leave you at the bottom and then come back up for it.”</p>
<p>I bear the journey in silence, a fact he seems to appreciate. When I’m safely back in my chair, he pushes me to the nearest train station, and finally breaks the silence.</p>
<p>“Where to?”</p>
<p>The address is burned into my memory, and I recite it for him. He looks at the charts, contemplating which line will get us there. Finally, he nods to himself and grips the back of my chair, pushing me towards the relevant platform. As we go, I can feel his eyes on me. Finally, he sighs and speaks.</p>
<p>“You’re different from anyone else I’ve ever seen like this. Usually, there’s some sort of...pride, I guess, but you’ve got none of it. They would have fought me taking them out of their chair, carrying them. You still have feeling in your legs. They look almost completely functional. They would have to be, for you to have made your way to wherever so you could ask for a consultation.”</p>
<p>I close my eyes. I knew it was coming. “I...fell...down some stairs.” It still hurts to call it that, but there’s no way I’m ever changing the story. If my parents heard me acknowledge that it was bullies who pushed me, they would do more than disown me. Crime or not, they would push the knife into my chest with their own hands. “Broke my hip and ribs and the femur on the left side...”</p>
<p>“Must have been quite the fall.” He remarks drily. I can tell he doesn’t believe me, and I don’t insist.</p>
<p>“They said that I wouldn’t ever be able to walk without pain again, even if they managed to untangle all the pieces of bone from my nerves and muscles, and the chance of that was slim already.” I can feel his wince.</p>
<p>He’s silent for a long time. Then, finally, “quite the <em>fall</em> indeed. Did the stairs fall on top of you after you fell down them?”</p>
<p>“Something like that.” Sometimes, I still dream about it.</p>
<p>“<em>Hey, look, it’s the lumpy-faced coward! Gonna finally run to your mummy?”</em></p>
<p>“<em>He can’t. Don’t you know they hate him? Can’t even stand to look at your ugly face!”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>They circle around me, crowding me somewhere. I assume it’s to the bathrooms, where they’ll water-log my books or break my phone against the tiles, or cram my head as far down a toilet bowl as they can, but I can’t be more wrong. Suddenly, the ground is gone from underneath my feet, and my heart leaps into my throat, as though trying to preserve itself by leaving me.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The bottom of the stairs comes in a series of stops, each one hurting more than the last. My elbow hits first, my left hip taking a glancing blow before I tumble over myself, my right side bearing the next hit, before the third and final impact. The crack of bones is drowned out by my scream echoing around the halls.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The boys laugh, rolling me over and kicking in my broken bones. I scream louder. One of them – I can no longer remember which one – presses the heel of his boot against the jut of my hipbone, but it holds no structural integrity, crumpling into a whirling storm of agony. I can’t see anything through the tears, can’t hear anything through my howls of pain.</em>
</p>
<p>“<em>Look at that, fuck-face. No one cares. You’re crying out for help, and no one cares.”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>But they’re wrong about that. The P.E. teacher, who had always been fond of me because of my skills with a volleyball, comes running down the hall, his whistle screaming as loud as I had been. I black out as he comes into the fray of schoolchildren who had stopped to witness the brutality, pushing his way through them. I can vaguely hear his voice calling my name, but it doesn’t matter, because they’ve stopped adding more pain to the fire, and I can now have peace.</em>
</p>
<p>I come to on the train. My eyes are wet. The man I hired is looking at me with a guarded expression. “Have a good trip?” He asks drily, and something about the question strikes me as funny. I can’t stop myself from laughing. I get a few strange looks, but it’s been so long since I’ve laughed, and it feels so good.</p>
<p>When I wipe away the tears of mirth, I swear he’s smiling at me. He turns his face away. “We’re almost there.”</p>
<p>I feel a sudden wave of anxiety. What if they’re still there? What if they shoo me off the second we show up? What am I supposed to do-</p>
<p>The voice-over announces something that I’m too worried to catch, and the man stands, placing his hand on my shoulder. We leave the train at the next stop, and make our way through the streets – streets that are so familiar to me. Finally, we stop at a house that looks so sickeningly familiar, but it’s windows are dark, blinds closed, a ‘for sale’ sign on the front.</p>
<p>They’re gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The man who’s brought me here doesn’t try to stop me from crying. His hand falls on my shoulder, and squeezes lightly, and my sobs only get louder, deeper, more resonant within myself. I’d thought myself all cried out, but the pain in my chest has brought out the remainder of my suffering.</p><p>After a long time, I can feel myself moving. He’s wheeling my chair through the streets. I look around me, but I can’t recognise anything. “Where are we?” I ask hoarsely.</p><p>He points to a house not too far from where we are. “I live there. There’s no way I’m taking you back to that damned apartment. We’ll put some credit on that phone. You still have his number, right?”</p><p>I blink down at it. I had stopped thinking of it as a communication device a long time ago; it was only a way of telling the time. Even before the ‘accident’, I had not contacted anyone but my brother with it. I swallow down a fresh wave of tears.</p><p>The man opens the door to his house and lifts my chair over the slight lip of the threshold. Inside is a young man’s home; games scattered over the living room, an up-to-date television, unfolded laundry piled on one side of a comfortable-looking couch. I sigh at the sight; it’s been so long since I’ve sat on a couch. As if sensing my desire, he unstraps me from the chair and helps me to the couch, just providing a strong pillar to lean against this time, rather than picking me up. Part of me is grateful for the dignity provided me, but the other part of me wants him to hold me again.</p><p>Once on the couch, I sink back into the cushions and, unwilling but unable to stop myself, I fall into a deep sleep.</p><p> </p><p>When I next wake, the young man is sitting next to me with his laptop open, tapping away at some keys. He seems to notice me stirring. “Are you hungry?” He asks, still not saying anything of my breakdown earlier.</p><p>“Yes.” I say timidly, unsure if he’s offering something to eat or not.</p><p>He sighs and puts the computer aside. “What do you want to eat?”</p><p>“I...what do you have?”</p><p>“Honestly? Not much. I could go out and get something, but I was kinda thinking of ordering takeaway.”</p><p>My mouth waters. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve eaten anything so drenched in both sugar and fat. He takes one look at my face and grimaces.</p><p>“I should have known that would be a bad idea. We have to work you up to that. Sorry to say it, but anything of that calibre will probably have you throwing up before you’re halfway done digesting it.”</p><p>I have to concede that he’s right, but I vow to myself that I will one day taste it again. He gets up and goes to the kitchen. “How about we start with some toast?”</p><p>I agree and, a few minutes later, I have two squares of warm bread on a plate in my hands. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this, too. For the last year, I’ve been living off of one frozen meal a day, two on bad days. I’ve lost a lot of weight. I’m ashamed to do so, but as I eat, I cry again. The young man, whose name I still do not know, is gracious enough to not remark upon it.</p><p>It seems as though I’m making up for lost time. I sink further into the couch and curl up, hugging my right knee to my chest. The tears irritate my eyes, but that just makes me cry harder. Finally, after what is way too long, the young man touches my shoulder.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, and I look up into his eyes, “I have a client soon, but you should get some rest. Let me take you to my room, and you can sleep there.”</p><p>“I don’t want to-”</p><p>“I’m not taking you back to that apartment.” He interrupts, a look of disgust on his face. It’s so familiar I recoil from him. He notices and softens his gaze. “I’m not.” He says firmly. “What other options do you have? Surely you don’t have any friends?”</p><p>“I...I don’t.”</p><p>He nods as if he had been expecting that from the first. His arm slides under mine, his right hand gripping my right shoulder as he helps me to stand. We hobble over to his bedroom, and he sets me down, allowing me to rearrange myself.</p><p>After he’s watched me tuck myself in, he nods to himself. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” He says as he closes the door.</p><p>There’s shuffling around in the other room for a while before the front door closes, and then there’s finally silence. After he’s gone, I contemplate getting up and looking around, but I have no idea what to look at, and even if I did, it would be meaningless pain. So instead, I close my eyes. I’m surprised that, despite my earlier nap, I instantly fall asleep.</p><p> </p><p>I feel the bed dip beside me, then a warm hand on my back. In my half-asleep state, I think it’s my brother, finally come to find me. I roll over and blink open my eyes, but the hand disappears, as does the weight on the mattress, and all I see is the young man who’d let me stay with him. He’s getting out of his clothes and into pyjamas, and I see the smooth expanse of his back, his long legs, his graceful fingers slipping the shirt over his head.</p><p>My breathing picks up, and I feel myself start to grow hard. I try desperately to think of anything else, but all I can imagine are his soft, warm, elegant fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking, caressing…</p><p>He pulls the blanket away from me and slides into bed, blinking his brown doe eyes sleepily at me. I’ve got mine half-lidded, and he seems to take that as me asleep, because he reaches out and slowly caresses my face. His eyes are sad. “What did they do to you?” He whispers, before turning over and turning off the lights.</p><p> </p><p>When I next wake, the bed beside me is empty. The sheets are still warm, and I can hear noises coming from the kitchen. I shift around and slowly make my way out into the living room. As soon as he sees me, the young man comes over with my wheelchair and helps me into it.</p><p>“Sleep well?” He asks, going back to his breakfast.</p><p>“Yeah, really well, thanks. You?” I choose not to mention that I’d felt his hand, that I’d heard him, seen him, last night.</p><p>“Not too bad.” He moves around the kitchen like a graceful cat, prowling in his own territory. He makes himself a bowl of cereal, then offers me whatever I can find. “I don’t have much. Should go shopping today. Do you want to come with me?”</p><p>He asks it like he would what the date is. I can’t help but gape at him. I’ve never been asked that question before. So, before I know what’s happening, I’m crying again.</p><p>Misinterpreting my tears, he panics. “Sorry, I...that’s a lot of choice, isn’t it, after being forced to...for so long...sorry.”</p><p>“I’d love to come.” I manage. “I...I’ve never been grocery shopping before.”</p><p>He blinks at me. “Wh-what?”</p><p>“Well, my parents would leave me at home all the time when I was younger, and then they took all the money from my part-time job, so I’ve never had money to go on my own.”</p><p>He seems absolutely floored. “They treated you like that even before...” He turns away from me, but I can see the sudden rage shaking his shoulders. He composes himself, then turns back. “Right, we’re going shopping soon. Let’s get you some new clothes, too, and then we’ll find something for you to do while you’re not working, until we can find you a job.”</p><p>“You...really don’t have to...” I say, embarrassed. Should I not have told him about the neglect? I knew not every child experienced what I had, but I had previously thought that it didn’t matter. Surely mine isn’t the worst childhood?</p><p>“I do have to.” He says through gritted teeth. “Just because they treated you like trash doesn’t mean everyone will.” He seems angry as he moves now, a jaggedness that wasn’t there before. Even so, he gets ready quickly.</p><p>Having nothing else to change into, I have to go out in the same clothes I’ve been wearing for a whole week, because changing hurts too much to make the effort to do it every day. My clothes get washed when I have a shower, which is roughly once a fortnight.</p><p>As we go out, I feel self-conscious, but thankfully the young man doesn’t say anything. I wonder how long it’s been since I brushed my teeth. Was it yesterday morning? Two days ago? Three? I always try not to have it get out of hand, but-</p><p>“Stop worrying.” He sighs, still pushing me. “You look fine. We’ll find you some nice clothes, and then we’ll find you a job.” He sounds almost frustrated, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Then we can see about getting you a new place, maybe with a flatshare, and-”</p><p>“Don’t.” I interrupt, immediately terrified. “I don’t...I can’t go back to being in a flat. It’s too...too cramped. I want to stay on the ground for a while.”</p><p>His voice is quiet, soothing. “Okay. Okay. Maybe just a share house, with you on the ground floor. I’m sure you don’t want to stick with me for forever.”</p><p>He’s wrong about that. I’ve only been with him for one day, but I can already tell that he’s a kind-hearted person, gentle in the best of ways, and I want to be by his side for as long as I can be. Even if he hadn’t been kind, I think I’d have wanted to stay with him for as long as I could; it’s been so long since I’ve had any contact of any kind that I probably would have thought the same of anyone.</p><p>My bisexual heart thuds as I look at all the attractive people passing us by, imagining helping that girl with her handbag caught on the door handle, our fingers brushing...or picking up that man’s wallet and chasing after him in place of that young woman, blushing as he thanks me, exchanging numbers...or walking into that coffee shop where the pretty woman sits with her fingers curled loosely around her cup while she flicks through her papers for work, asking her if she wants to go out on a date. The fantasies pass easily. They have plagued me for so long; after getting injured, I would imagine walking to the fridge to get out the ingredients to make dinner, as though it was still possible. Nothing was too mundane – watching television pressed up against my brother; walking down to the pet shelter when I felt lonely so I could pet the little cats and dogs, laughing when they licked my face; eating sugary sweets my brother got for me; walking into school, sitting down to study or eat alongside my teammates.</p><p>I come back to myself when the young man with me asks me a question. I blink up at him, and am reminded of how attractive he is. “Sorry…?”</p><p>I swear I can see the corner of his lip curl, but he turns away from me. “Good to have you back.” He says drily. “Did you want any cereal?”</p><p>At his question, I do a double-take at where we are. I hadn’t noticed the scenery change. “Uh...” It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything that required more than a freezer and a microwave, the only two items in my kitchen other than the sink. I can’t remember if I liked cereal, when I’d had access to it. Am I lactose intolerant? Do I have allergies? I can’t remember.</p><p>He seems content to wait for me to make a decision, so we wait in the middle of the store for a good five minutes, people sifting around us, him on his phone, me staring at boxes of cereal like I’ve never seen anything like it before. Finally, I decide that it’s probably best to keep with more gentle foods before jumping into dairy. “I’d just like vegetables and rice.” I say eventually.</p><p>“Alright.” He takes me away from the cereal aisle and over to the fruit and vegetables. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask what vegetables I’d like to eat, just walks around and places bags of fresh produce into my lap. “Oh...” He says, holding a bag of onions, hovering them over me and my small pile of groceries. “You...don’t mind, do you?” He asks, his cheeks quickly colouring.</p><p>“No, it’s fine.” I say, thinking about how cute that is.</p><p>He places the onions on the top of the pile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bury you. You’re just so quiet that I kind of...forgot you were there.”</p><p>I feel my own cheeks heat. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to talk to.”</p><p>“Well, you should get into the habit.” He says lightly. “You haven’t even told me your name yet.”</p><p>“You haven’t told me yours, either,” I counter, feeling self-conscious.</p><p>“Fair enough.” He says with a chuckle. “I’m Tsukishima Kei. Nice to meet you.”</p><p>“I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi. But call me Tadashi. I don’t-”</p><p>“Yeah.” He interrupts quietly. “I get it.” He’s quiet for a few more moments, then: “On Thursdays, there’s a boy who comes around to my house after school, along with his mother. She's one of my clients. Don't be surprised if he comes around and...makes himself at home. He's kinda used to it."</p><p>“Okay, sure.” It never occurs to me to ask his name, or why he comes over with his mother. If Kei thinks it’s important knowledge, he’ll share it with me. “So...what else is there to talk about?” I ask, as though he has the answers.</p><p>“You’re looking for your brother.” He supplies. “Why?”</p><p>“He’s the only one who loved me in that house. Mum and dad couldn’t stand to look at me, and they taught my younger sister to hate me. Without him, I would have died.” I sense that this isn’t a great conversation topic; I can almost <em>feel</em> the anger rolling off him in waves. “I liked volleyball. Was pretty good at it, too.”</p><p>His mood lightens. “Really? Me too. What position?”</p><p>“Uh, well...sort of...pinch server.” I mutter, and I have to repeat it.</p><p>“Why do you say it so quietly? That’s a really important part of the game.”</p><p>“Yeah, and at the time, I loved it, would say it proudly. But after being able to think about it for a whole year...it was kind of...cowardly? Certainly not as cool as other positions.”</p><p>“It’s not cowardly, and it totally is as cool.” Kei says with conviction, throwing some chips into the growing pile. He gazes at it with calculating eyes. “We should have gotten a basket.” He leaves, then comes back a few moments later with one in each hand. He transfers all the items to one basket, then places it on my lap, balancing the other next to it. “Sorry to have you carry all this.” He says quietly.</p><p>“It’s fine.” I say, not ready to tell him that this is possibly one of the best experiences of my life. Already, I can imagine the look he’ll give me if I say it; sadness with an edge of anger.</p><p>Kei pushes me through the store, piling the baskets with things he’ll presumably eat throughout the week, even though some of the things seem rather childish; sugary cereal and muesli bars topped with chocolate. I assume that they’re for the boy he mentioned earlier, and choose not to ask any questions about it.</p><p>After the groceries are back home, we go out again to shop for clothes. Kei doesn’t allow me any time to freshen up, saying I’ll have plenty of time to have a bath while he’s at work tonight. Instead, he sprays me with a small helping of deodorant and pushes me right back out the door.</p><p>Again, I choose not to tell him that I’ve never been clothes shopping; everything I’ve ever worn has been worn by my older brother. Some of the clothes were already worn down to scraps by the time I got them, but I had become an expert at sewing things together, creating one hybrid shirt from three or even sometimes as many as five shirts. But my sewing skills aren’t going to do me any good here; the clothes are all whole, brand-new, in a multitude of bright colours. I blink my eyes. The lights are bright, fluorescent. Everything seems to be screaming at me, and it’s not long before I’m nursing a massive headache.</p><p>I try to keep quiet about my pain, but something about me must tip Kei off, because he’s suddenly at my side. “Are you okay? You look pale.” He says blankly, and I wonder just how much he cares.</p><p>“I’m fine.” I say quietly.</p><p>He looks around us, and seems to notice, as if for the first time, all the people, the music blaring from the speakers overhead, the bright lights, the vibrant cloths. “Oh.” Is all he says before he’s wheeled us to the front counter. “I found these, which I think you’ll like. But maybe we should do the rest of our shopping online?” He gives me the clothes for closer inspection; they have little kittens on them, and they’re loose-fitting pyjama pants. I can’t hide my smile.</p><p>“They’re amazing, Kei. I love them. Thank you.”</p><p>He can’t hide his flush. He pays for them, and we leave the store, going back to his place. As we ride the train back, I close my eyes and think back to his warm bed, his soft sheets, his gentle breathing next to me, and I know in my heart that I will never, ever want to leave them.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Revelation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As I sink into the bath, after he’s left, I look up at the ceiling and slowly blink my eyes closed. I can’t help but travel back to my old apartment, think about the shower that’s only setting was cold, about the plastic, microwaveable dishes that filled the trash bag in just days, how I had no other way of disposing of them.</p><p>I hadn’t known, when I could walk without pain, just how many things required that skill. Even going to the bathroom was more difficult in my wheelchair. I had worked on being able to walk across my apartment for months. Some days, it still hurts too much to even stand, but some days, I can make it further.</p><p>Sliding further back into the water, I think about how hard it was to get up and down the stairs in order to make it to the internet cafe. I feel myself get panicky, and I’m not sure why. The walls start to close in on me, and my breathing becomes shorter. It’s harder to concentrate on anything, and I start to take in water, gasping as I try not to drown.</p><p>Suddenly, strong hands are on my shoulders, then under my arms, pulling me out of the water, until I’m coughing up water onto the tiles. A voice I don’t know asks if I’m okay. Kei’s voice comes from the doorway, asking something I can’t hear.</p><p>“He’s okay. Just a little...wet.” The voice is deep, masculine.</p><p>Kei comes closer and drapes me with a towel, slowly reaching out and rubbing my arms until I’m warmed up a little. “What happened?” He asks eventually.</p><p>“I...” I look around the room. It’s bigger than it feels. “I have to go back.” I say, already fighting to my feet. Kei blinks at me in surprise. “I have to go back to my apart-ah!” I cry out as I try to stand on my left leg, forgetting for a moment that it’s injured. The new person catches me in his arms, holding me upright, looking concerned.</p><p>“Is he okay?” He asks, brows furrowed. His black hair is spiky, even more messy than Kei’s, and he seems to be a little taller than my blonde rescuer. Handsome, too, and I feel myself flushing as he continues to hold me upright.</p><p>“An old injury.” Kei says off-handedly. His focus is more on my words from earlier. “Why do you have to go back there?”</p><p>“I...I don’t know.” I gasp out. “I just have to...I feel...someone’s...something’s...” I grope around for something to hold onto that isn’t one of the two people in the room with me, but everything’s too far away. I’m on the edge of a revelation – something big – but I’ve not quite got it yet. I just need room to breathe, and then-</p><p>“Kosuke.” I blurt out, stopping my struggling.</p><p>“What?” Kei asks bluntly.</p><p>“My brother. He...he’s going to be there, looking for me.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Kei looks thoroughly lost.</p><p>I take a breath and try to calm down. “The rubbish never piled up. The only person who would take it out, who could take it out, is Kosuke. He’s been visiting me this whole time.”</p><p>“But you’ve never seen him.” Kei protests.</p><p>“I’m sure he’s been coming at night, so that I wouldn’t know.”</p><p>Kei’s eyes narrow, and I can see the same gears begin to turn in his head. “But why?”</p><p>“I don’t know, but please, if there’s even a small chance-”</p><p>This is what seems to break him. “Alright.” He takes me from the other man’s arms and pats me dry before setting me back in my wheelchair, leaving me in the towel so I can get dressed while he turns to the other man and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Sorry. Let’s continue this another time?”</p><p>The man sighs. “Alright. But I want it for free next time.”</p><p>Kei frowns, but doesn’t say anything as he watches him leave.</p><p>“He was a client?”</p><p>“Yeah. My first, actually. He’s been coming to see me for two years.” He doesn’t say anything else until I’m dressed. “Well, let’s get you back to that damned apartment.” He sighs, pushing me out the door and down the road towards the train station.</p><p> </p><p>When we get there, it’s late at night. Kosuke is already there, his head in his hands. When he hears us come up the stairs, he looks up, then lunges forward, wrapping his arms around my neck.</p><p>“Thank the gods, ‘Dashi. I thought...well, I didn’t know what to think. You had me so worried!”</p><p>“Sorry.” I mumble, before remembering that I should be mad at him. “But I had no idea that you even came to visit me! Why did you never leave a note! I thought I was alone for a whole year.”</p><p>He looks sheepish, his cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry. I...I just wanted you to...I thought...” He finally deflates. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just scared. I...” His eyes travel to Kei at my side. “Who’s this?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter, Kosuke. What matters is that you left me alone here!” I protest, wanting to be violent, but lacking the mobility. Seemingly understanding my intentions, Kei steps in and shoves Kosuke back into the apartment.</p><p>“Stay here.” He growls at me, shutting the door. I hear a thud and some harsh whispers, and then the door opens again. He looks stormy. “Let’s go.” He grunts, lifting me from my chair despite my weak protests. Kosuke doesn’t show his face again as we leave the landing and go down the stairs.</p><p>“What did you talk about?” I probe as he carries me down, down, down the stairwell.</p><p>He scowls. “Not your concern.” He grunts, thumping down faster, holding me tighter.</p><p>Despite his obvious anger, when he sets me down, he’s gentle. His hand lingers on my back, and I try not to lean into it too much, so in need of the contact that it almost scares me.</p><p>“I’ll be back.” He says, more gently than before, but still rough.</p><p>As he turns to leave, I grab his sleeve, suddenly worried. He raises his brow at me. “It...it’s not his fault. He didn’t put me up there.”</p><p>Kei pulls away. “No, but he left you, and I can’t forgive that.” He starts to walk away, but I call after him.</p><p>“Why do you even care?” I ask, my voice breaking in the most embarrassing way. “You don’t even know me.”</p><p>He hangs his head, pauses for a moment, turns to look at me with a sad expression, then turns back and leaves me.</p><p> </p><p>He comes back not much later with Kosuke at his side, how looks even more cowed than before. “Sorry.” He mumbles, getting onto the bench beside me. Kei walks away with a huff, taking out his phone and fiddling with it.</p><p>I turn back to Kosuke. “That’s it? Sorry?”</p><p>“No...I...Tadashi, when...they...left you up there, I protested it. They were going to leave you there to starve, but they agreed to give you the deliveries.” He clutches his hands in his lap. “I love you, ‘Dashi. So much. I couldn’t just leave you there. Of course I would come visit. I just...I was so ashamed I couldn’t do more for you that I...I couldn’t face you. Not until I had a job, and a place for you to stay. I promise I was going to let you see me when I had that.”</p><p>“And before then? When I needed you? I cried myself dry for days, Kosuke. I tried to kill myself. Why didn’t you come to get me...why weren’t you there?”</p><p>He hangs his head. “’Dashi...I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I couldn’t. How was I supposed to explain skipping school? Getting my own apartment before I graduated despite not having enough money for food? They would have known, and there’s no way they would have let me bring you home.” He sighs. “Your friend’s told me, in no uncertain terms, that I’m going to have to prove myself if I want to see you. He’ll take care of you before then. He doesn’t trust me, and honestly, I can’t blame him.”</p><p>Kosuke smiles sadly at me. “I’m almost there, ‘Dashi. We’re almost out from under them.” His hand comes up and squeezes my shoulder. “Soon.” With that, he stands and leaves me. Again. But as he walks away, I feel nothing but cold emptiness swirling in my heart. I look over at Kei, who seems to already know everything I’m feeling, and comes over.</p><p>“You ready to go back home?” He asks, and I nod hollowly. I feel so sleepy, my eyelids are drooping even before he transfers me to my chair.</p><p> </p><p>When I next wake up, I’m wrapped up in the sheets of Kei’s bed. He’s still beside me, snoring softly, mouth slightly open, expression slack. Slowly, I reach out and stroke his cheek. It’s so much softer than I had thought it would be. Before I know what I’m doing, I have one hand on his chest, the other on his bare arm, feeling the warmth under my palms.</p><p>He groans and rolls towards me, his eyes sliding open slowly. “Tadashi?”</p><p>My cheeks heat, and I jerk my hands away. “S...sorry. I was just...”</p><p>Kei smiles softly and brings my hand back to his chest. “Feels good to touch someone after so long, right?” He says softly. His heart beats against my fingers, and I heat even more. Surely he has to know what he’s doing to me?</p><p>His hand slips away from mine, and then he’s moving, getting out of bed. I curl into the space he’s vacated. “Can I just stay here for a while?” I ask the pillows, making him snort.</p><p>“Sure, if you want to skip breakfast. I’ve got a few things to do today, so I won’t be home for lunch, either. And I’ve got to make the time up for Tetsuro.” At my confused glance, he elaborates. “The guy who was here last night. But you’re free to do what you want. I’m sure you know how to do the things you need to in order to make yourself something, right?”</p><p>He pauses with his hand on the door. “You...<em>will</em> be alright on your own, right?” He asks quietly, not looking at me. “I’m coming back.”</p><p>“I know.” I lift myself onto my elbows, immediately feeling like flopping back down again. “I’ll be okay.” I groan as I sit more upright, my hip twinging. “I think I’ll start looking online for some jobs.” I groan again as I shift myself into my chair. “I need to get myself to a massage parlour.”</p><p>“I can do that.” Kei says, already walking out to the kitchen.</p><p>“Really?” I follow, still in my new pyjamas.</p><p>“Yeah, of course. It was part of becoming a prostitute. Of course, I didn’t start knowing how to do it, but as soon as I got money, I learned how to give really good massages. A lot of my clients love getting one after their sessions.”</p><p>“I...I’ve been curious about that.” I say with flushed cheeks. “What do you...do...with your clients?”</p><p>“Whatever they want. People hear ‘prostitute’ and think ‘sex’, but it’s more than that. Sure, that’s most of it, but I also take care of people like you, who can’t afford, or want a different sort of care, than a private carer. I give people massages, help their kids with their homework while they have a few minutes to themselves. I cook and clean for the people who want something nice to look at while it’s happening. Sometimes that leads to some other stuff, but it’s mostly just them ogling me.”</p><p>“So you just help people?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He smiles and hands me a plate with two pieces of toast. “Hey, maybe you should also look for some new clothes. Not that you don’t look great in those, but, well, I don’t think they’ll win you a job.”</p><p>I look down at myself, then laugh. “Yeah. Am I okay to use your computer?”</p><p>“Sure.” He opens it and types in his password, then opens an app that’ll keep the laptop running as long as it’s open. “Do whatever you want; I have unlimited internet here.”</p><p>“Thanks.” I say, finishing my toast.</p><p>“If you’re going to watch porn,” he says as he heads into the shower, “clean up afterwards, alright?”</p><p>I feel my cheeks flush. I hadn’t even considered it, but now, all I can think about is Kei on his knees in front of me, or me lying under him, or his hands, or his cock in my mouth…</p><p>He chuckles at my expression and ruffles my hair roughly. “Just kidding.” He pads past me into the bathroom, and I hear the shower turn on.</p><p>I sigh and close my eyes, forcing myself not to whine at the loss of contact. After not being touched for a year, his hands on me feel amazing. Not that it really helps my situation downstairs at all. But I don’t care. I want him to hug me, to have his hands on my skin – my face, my neck, my shoulders, my back, my ass, <em>inside</em> me.</p><p>Groaning, I shift in my chair, palming at my crotch. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such overtly sexual fantasies, and they’re hitting me hard. I’d also never really thought that anyone would want me like that.</p><p>Thankfully, my erection goes down before he comes out of the shower. He’s got a towel around his waist, a loose shirt on, his slipper-clad feet shuffling on the hardwood floors. My mouth goes dry, as I think about the water sliding down his skin…</p><p>“Don’t have a bath before I get back, okay? I can help you if you need, but I don’t want you drowning if you have another panic attack.” He says from his bedroom as he gets dressed. He comes out in a tight-fitting blue shirt and black jeans. “I’ll be back later.”</p><p>“Okay. Hope you have a good day.”</p><p>“You too.”</p><p>After he’s left, I turn to the laptop. <em>Right, time to get on with this…</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been wanting to write this one for a while, but I was trying to write it in third person, from Kei's perspective, but it just wasn't working for me. So I finally tried something different, and it seems to be coming together. It shouldn't be too long before another chapter's up. I have no idea how long this is going to be, but I'm thinking about three or four chapters, all about the same length, so keep an eye out if you liked it. Also, I love hearing when I've hit the mark, so if you're heart's bleeding, please present the evidence in the form of an all-caps comment ;P</p>
<p>Thanks so much for reading, I hope you're not too wounded. *whisper* I promise it gets better.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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